


Babe

by Ladycat



Series: Married [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Schmoop, always a girl Rodney
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:10:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thinking about that always makes Rodney feel warm and stupid, which she hates, but can't stop.  Sighing with the same gustiness John used a few moments before, she sags back against him.  "I hate you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Babe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lallybroch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lallybroch/gifts).



"Hey," John says, nuzzling up against Rodney's ear, arms around her shoulders. It's possessive in the worst kind of masculine way, but it's also warm and familiar and he smells _so good_ and Rodney really can't help but relax back against him. "Whatcha doin', babe?"

Except for that part. That part makes Rodney stiffen like she's turned into a statue, prim and annoyed in John's arms.

John knows it, too. He ducks his head, flush warm against Rodney's neck, and let's out a long sigh. "Okay, can we rewind to ten seconds ago, when things were better?"

"Yes, because we're so eager to break the laws of physics for a little nookie," Rodney snaps.

Actually, that's probably what will be the reason for discovering it, should it ever be discovered. Rodney knows many things, and while she will never, _ever_ tell John this, he's taught her a lot more. Most real discoveries are accidental, or pushed through by humanity's more prurient interests. So, yes, time travel for nookie? Not only possible, but _probable_.

Not that she's telling John that, she reminds herself. Repeatedly. She's mad at him, and fully intends to make him suffer.

John isn't cognizant to this plan, however, because he's still loose and pliant around her, one hand dropping low on her belly as he cuddles close. "C'mon, Rodney, don't be mad, please? I can't help it."

"Of course you can help it. You're an adult, with less stupidity than most."

"Is that a compliment?" he asks. His face is still tucked into her neck, nose pressing against the back of her ear, but Rodney knows damn well what the rest of the lab is seeing: that consistently dorky expression that only she is the recipient of. "Are you _complimenting_ me, Ms. Tyrant of the Lab?"

"That's Empress of the Lab," Rodney snaps, trying very, very hard not to be charmed. "Get your terminology straight."

"A tyrannical empress?"

He's so _impossible_. Rodney wants to stay stiff and unyielding, but John sounds -- he sounds like he's in love with her, absolutely besotted, those big hands so careful around the swell of her stomach. Yes, it's possessive, both in words and deeds, but it's not something John is really in control of. Rodney gets that, when she isn't incredibly annoyed by it. This is John Sheppard, thoroughly male, thoroughly thoughtless, and thoroughly hers. If she's not offended by the way he has to always have a hand on her back, or around her waist, or shoulders, hovering like he can't bear a few feet of separation, then she shouldn't be offended at his thoughtless need to call her 'babe', right?

At least it's something only _he_ gets to do, which shouldn't make a difference, but it really does. Anyone else who tries to treat her so familiarly gets Colonel Sheppard, not her affable and surprisingly sweet -- and really, really dorky -- husband, and Rodney wishes she didn't find that romantic.

And useful, which Rodney makes sure she never, ever tells John. _Ever_. Because when John gets angry, it's always in support, never on behalf. He loves watching her eviscerate people as much as she loves to do it and he's careful not to step in unless he either sees something she doesn't, or she needs support of the more physical kind.

It... works. It works well. 

Rodney has long since passed the time in her life when she expected to be treated as she deserves. The fact that she _is_ , now, is a renewable surprise that never gets old.

Thinking about that always makes Rodney feel warm and stupid, which she hates, but can't stop. Sighing with the same gustiness John used a few moments before, she sags back against him. "I hate you."

He kisses her cheek, grin wicked and familiar against her skin. "I know you do, babe."

"You know, it's a good thing your mother isn't still alive," she grumps, grasping John's hand tightly as he maneuvers them over to the small kitchen where the coffee lives. Her balance is increasingly lacking. "Because she and I would have _words_ regarding your unceasing need to call me by primitive nicknames that have no bearing on reality. I am not a _babe_."

She means it in the sense of it being an entirely inappropriate term. Really, she does -- that's her main objection to it, after all. 'Babes' are women with blonde hair, and too-tan, too-toned bodies, that wear skimpy things and titter at the verbal means of reassurance every time they're called one of the asinine names they enjoy.

But when John eases her into the chair, leaning back with his head tilted to one side, crazy hair turning silver in the light as he looks over with those penetrating eyes... 

Rodney has absolutely no problem fishing for compliments. It's what she _does_.

But she really didn't mean to, this time.

"Yeah, you are," John says, while she flushes. The seriousness in his voice warms her all the way to her toes, naked despite her clothes and the baby weighing her down. "You're definitely a babe."

She has to swallow a few times. She knows she's gorgeous; she just doesn't expect him to think so, or remind her so often. "What," she manages, "no insistence that I'm _your_ babe?"

John leans back, aiming a glare at whichever techs are gathered by the door. The John and Rodney Show is always a good time, for them. "Can you guys close the door, please?"

It's simple, polite, and nothing less than an order. It's treated as one, too, a female squeak heralding the click of a door shutting tightly.

"That's better," he says, then dives forward for a long, lingering kiss that shouldn't make her melt so much, his lips soft and just a little bristly from the five o'clock shadow she's learned to appreciate. "You are," he says when he pulls back, eyes locked on hers, "definitely mine."

How is anyone, male or female, supposed to stand up to that? It's -- it's impossible! Because John means it, every fiber of his being, and no rational human -- or even the more common irrational ones -- can be that perfect. It's literally impossible, and it's all hers.

"What if I were to call you babe at the next officers gathering you take me to?" she asks, finger-walking up his arms.

John laughs, his stupid, braying laugh, the one that means he actually finds it funny, not just in pretense. "I think pretty much everybody would say I was whipped."

Her eyes spark. "You mean they don't _now?_ "

John kisses her sweet and wet, with so much intent that Rodney doesn't even bother trying to read all the information; she doesn't need to. "Of course they do."

**Author's Note:**

> This is I _believe_ the beginning of my Rodney-as-a-girl series called 'lallyverse' on my LJ. I'm shoe-horning it in regardless because it isn't too jarring. There will be name changes as the series progresses.


End file.
